


Rather Be More

by SleepSprinkles



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance, but fluff, flufff, maybe too much fluff, sexual content (later)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 10:37:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepSprinkles/pseuds/SleepSprinkles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has been back for awhile now, and the more John and Sherlock spend time together, the more something else begins to blossom.</p><p>As feelings become evident, the possibility of a loving, intimate relationship becomes greater, of course with some work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rather Be More

 

 

                John opened his eyes. He didn’t have his blinds closed all the way, and the sunlight streamed in and fell over his face. He grimaced and put his hand over his eyes. He had overslept. He felt that groggy feeling. The feeling of fatigue from 13 hours of sleep, even though he got 11. He took a deep breath. He knew he had slept well. So well, that in fact he had drooled. The drool was now dry and crusty from the left corner of his lip down to his chin. His breath had the stale, morning taste to it. He licked his dry lips, and then bit them a little. A loud sigh escaped from his lips as he closed his eyes and put both his hands down by his side, and used that strength to lift himself. His stomach let out a pathetic growl. He turned himself towards the edge of his bed, lifting his knees to pivot his legs.  John stood up. He scratched his right shoulder, and trudged toward the door. He nabbed his robe and slipped his arms in it, then tied it around his waist. He opened his door and headed into the living area.

            It was quiet. Not a comfortable quiet. A quiet that brings uneasiness or uncertainty. John tongued the roof of his mouth then headed for the bathroom to brush his teeth. He turned on the faucet, grabbed a toothbrush, and squeezed a bit too much toothpaste on the brush. He quick put the brush under the running water, then turned off the water and began to brush his teeth. John finished brushing, rinsed his face with water, and headed out into the kitchen.

            The silence hit him once more. The silence revealed to him that at that very moment, he was alone. Sherlock hadn’t been there complaining about his boredom, or poking fun at John’s unsuccessful relationship attempts, or reminding him that he could do everything on his own, but it was better with John.

            Everything had looked as it did the previous day, except the living room. The living room had been trashed. John sighed, knowing that the reason being was probably because of Sherlock looking for cigarettes. He opened the door to the staircase down to Mrs. Hudson, and shouted, “Mrs. Hudson, have you seen Sherlock?” He could hear scuffling approach the staircase.

            She looked worried and tired. “Sherlock? You can’t find him? No I haven’t seen him.” John sighed a sigh of annoyance. She looked towards the ceiling as if she was thinking. She rubbed her hands around in a dirty dish rag she held in her hands. John looked behind him, hoping to see Sherlock behind him.

            “Ah!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed. John looked back to her, her eyes large in revelation, but still showed uncertainty. “I heard someone leave late last night. I didn’t get out of bed though to see who it was. It must have been Sherlock.” She nodded slowly, cocking her head to the side, casting her eyes to the right.

            John felt a heavy feeling in his chest. Not again. He was not going to deal with it again. Sherlock couldn’t keep going off into the blue. It made him worry. He hated having to worry, and he knew Sherlock didn’t care for it either. John licked his lips, thinking of the fact that Sherlock just upped and left. He felt his grip tighten on the door handle. Mrs. Hudson put a finger to her chin, “Whatever could he be doing wandering off in the middle of the night?” She thought aloud. “I do worry about him sometimes. Oh dear, Sherlock.”

            John, through the worry and anger, managed a smile, “Thanks Mrs. Hudson.” She nodded quickly, and before she could utter a word John had the door closed. John clenched his fists as he marched towards his room. “Goddammit Sherlock,” he muttered. He pushed open his bedroom door. The door swung back and hit the wall, then recoiled and began to close slowly, stopping about half way. John took his phone from the night stand, and dialed Sherlock’s number. It was silent as the phone connected before making the call. The first rang came through. John bit his lip, “Come on Sherlock.” He quieted himself to make sure Sherlock wouldn’t pick up without him hearing. In his silence, he heard something in the other room. The ringing of Sherlock’s phone. John slowly pulled his phone from his ear. His lips slightly parted. He dropped his arm down to his side as he began to approach Sherlock’s bedroom. He could hear Sherlock’s phone still, followed by a groan, then a “Hello?” John didn’t even knock, he opened Sherlock’s door. Sherlock hung up his phone, and turned his head away. He was holding something up to his face, but that didn’t matter to John at the moment. Sherlock turned his head slightly towards John, but not enough to show the other side. They stared at each other in silence.

            “G-good morning,” John greeted, with a broken, choky sound to his voice.

            “Yes. What is it?” Sherlock asked, turning his head away. He was in his pajamas, his hair slightly messy; his room was dark.

            “Um, well, I don’t feel quite like cooking, and was wondering if you’d want to go out for breakfast?” John asked, scratching the back of his head.

            Sherlock glanced over at him. “That’s not what you were going to ask me, was it?”

            At that point John wasn’t going to even beat around the bush: “Did you go out last night?”

            “No.” Sherlock quickly responded.

            John tilted his head, furrowed his eyebrows, and countered, “Sherlock?”

            “Why does it matter?”

            “Mrs. Hudson told me you went out.”

            “And if I did?”

            “I just want to know where.”

            “Nothing.”

            “Sherlock.”

            “If you must know, it was a case, John. A case.”

            John sighed. “Why couldn’t you have taken me with you?”

            “You were asleep.”

            “I would have woken up!” His voice was angry. Sherlock turned his head towards him, dropping his hand that he held to his face, and from John’s distance it looked like a bag of some sort. Although Sherlock’s room was dark, John could see the hard, observant look of his bright blue eyes. He could feel his eyes searching his face. Sherlock tilted his head about, and raised an eyebrow.

            “I know what I can and cannot handle John. I didn’t want to wake you. I knew you were tired. I could tell. I knew it was something I could handle, so because of that, I didn’t wake you. It was just something that my brother quick wanted me to do, it only took a few hours anyhow,” he didn’t remove his eyes from John’s face while he said this. His voice was stern, but sincere. John blinked, and the more he looked at Sherlock, the more he realized something unusual about his appearance. He squinted his eyes, and moved his head a bit farther forward.

            “What’s… on your face?” John asked.

            Sherlock turned his head away. “Nothing that concerns you.” Was his response.

            “It does too concern me,” John snapped, as he flicked on the light. Sherlock’s eyes widened as John approached him. John gripped his hand and pulled it away from his face. Sherlock yanked his hand away, but didn’t cover his face as now there was no point. Sherlock had been holding a bag of ice in his hand. John looked from the bag to Sherlock’s face. There was a bruise under Sherlock’s left eye, going slightly under his cheek bone. Part of his lip was a little scabbed in the corner. John opened his mouth to talk, but Sherlock interrupted:

            “I fought him off.”

            John stared at his face, looking at both the injuries. They weren’t _bad_ but he still preferred not to see them there. He knew arguing with Sherlock was only going to run their words in circles, and that Sherlock was just going to remind him that the injuries weren’t bad and that he still managed to fight the guy off. It wasn’t often that John saw Sherlock with minor injuries like that, but it still worried him because it reminded him that even as well as Sherlock could defend himself, there was still a possibility that someone could get the better of him.

            Sherlock pivoted and stepped out of bed. “Are we still going to breakfast?” He asked, casting his eyes over to John. He could recognize John’s worry for him. John’s face was generally an open book. John nodded slowly, and turned away.

            “Yeah. We’re still having breakfast. Glad to have you home.” John headed to his bedroom to get dressed.

            Sherlock began to remove his pajamas. The fact that John cared for him made him feel almost… good? Sherlock shook his head. He couldn’t think of things like that. He put his arms in the sleeves of a button up, and began to quickly button it. He didn’t bring John with because not only was John sleeping, but he didn’t want John hurt. He knew it was definitely something he could handle on his own, but still, there’s always that chance that John could end up hurt, and Sherlock would rather take the hit than see John take it. He grabbed a pair of dark trousers, and quickly put those on. He used his fingers to comb down bits of his hair that begged to defy gravity.

            Sherlock promptly walked out of his room, he took a deep breath and glanced around, but stopped when his eyes met John’s door. His door had been cracked open. John unfolded a shirt, then held it out. Sherlock strained his eyes. He looked at John’s scar, then quickly away. Sherlock walked quietly into the living room. He felt wrong for even quickly casting his eyes into John’s room. Though, it was partially John’s fault for leaving the door cracked open. He put his hands together, like a child would when they would pray, and held the tips of his fingers to his bottom lip. He forced himself to think of other things. This is something he could do well when he wanted. John walked out of his room, wearing his black and red striped turtle neck shirt with dark wash jeans.

            He managed a meek smile. “Well then, shall we be off?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my first post on this site. I really hope you all enjoy. I'm pretty excited for reading other fanfictions. The community on this site seems to be absolutely amazing. Any feedback would be appreciated! Tell me what you think :D


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